


open the page later

by achilleees



Series: jack/parse tumblr prompts [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Outing, Sex Tapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5104094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achilleees/pseuds/achilleees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack looks to every member of his team. Not one of them can meet his eye, until Shitty finally steps forward. “Someone just leaked a Kent Parson sex tape. It’s, uh…” He clears his throat. “It’s with a guy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	open the page later

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr prompt: parse gets outed very publicly and humiliatingly during the summer (i'm thinking sex tape leak type thing) and jack has to see if he's okay

The whole Haus is buzzing when Jack opens the door.

“Well I think it’s bullshit!” Shitty is raging. “They know what kind of fucking statement they’re making! They let Drew goddamn Doughty talk to the media after – This is bullshit!”

“Of course it’s bullshit,” Ransom sighs. “But it’s not a fucking surprise, is it? I mean, how else did you think they would respond?”

“Like it’s something to be goddamn ashamed of!” Shitty shouts. Jack can’t remember the last time he saw him this angry. He doesn’t think he ever has.

Jack looks around for an island of sanity and finds Bitty, quiet and small and half curled in on himself. He walks over with a frown. “What’s going on?”

“They’re not letting him talk to the media,” Bitty says, in a tiny voice. “Shitty is upset.”

“Of course I’m fucking upset!” Shitty roars. “This is –”

“Bullshit, we know,” Lardo sighs. She sounds tired. “You okay, Bits?”

Bitty manages a small smile.

“Letting who talk to the media?” Jack says.

The kitchen goes silent.

“Bro,” Holster says. “You don’t know?”

“Jack isn’t on Twitter,” Bitty says.

“Yeah, but still…”

“I’ve been in the library,” Jack says, frowning. “What is it?”

Holster looks down.

Jack looks to every member of his team. Not one of them can meet his eye, until Shitty finally steps forward. “Someone just leaked a Kent Parson sex tape. It’s, uh…” He clears his throat. “It’s with a guy.”

Jack’s vision blurs.

 

* * *

 

_Safari can’t open the page “http://www.bleacherreport.com/” because the server unexpectedly dropped the connection, which sometimes occurs when the server is busy. You might be able to open the page later._

 

_Firefox got tired of waiting to hear back from the server at_ http://www.deadspin.com.  
• The site could be temporarily unavailable or too busy. Try again in a few moments.  
• If you are unable to load any addresses, check the computer's network connection.  
• If your computer or network is protected by a firewall or proxy, make sure that Firefox is permitted to access the Web.

 

**503 Service Unavailable**

No server is available to handle this request.

 

_* * *_

 

Shitty climbs out onto the roof next to Jack.

Jack flips a page of his reading and tries to breathe normally. Fuck, Jack tries to remember what it  _means_  to breathe normally.

“You ready to talk?” Shitty says.

Jack shrugs one shoulder.

“It’s been two days, dude,” Shitty says.

Jack shrugs the other shoulder.

Shitty sighs. “Nah, I’m not gonna make you. Course not. Just – if you want to. I’m here.”

“You figured it out?” Jack says, voice a bit raspy. How long has it been since he’s talked?

“Well, yeah,” Shitty says. “With this added context, those pics of you two from your days in the Q – the fights that you’ve had when he comes by… Why he can’t seem to get over you…”

Jack nods.

“He doesn’t blame you,” Shitty says.

“He should,” Jack says.

“Bullshit,” Shitty says – his new favorite word, it seems. “It’s not your fault the tape got leaked. It shouldn’t be such a flippin’ huge story in the first place, but it especially isn’t your story to take on. Kent Parson  _does not_  blame you for not sharing this press with him.”

“I should be, though,” Jack says. “I was just as much a participant in those blowjobs as he was.”

“That was years ago!” Shitty gestures expansively. “And it wasn’t your old hook-ups that broke this story, it was some douchebag with a hidden camera and shit for integrity. You can’t blame yourself for this one, Jack.”

“I don’t  _blame_  myself,” Jack says. “I don’t think anything was my fault. But they’ve put Kent on house arrest for something that applies to me too, and that’s – that’s fucked-up! He’s a pariah and I’m not, even though I sucked his dick as much as he sucked mine.” He chews on his thumbnail. “Jackie Robinson had to do this alone. But Kent doesn’t have to, and it’s on me if I look back at this moment in 20 years and hate myself for letting him.”

Shitty stares at him for a long moment. He clears his throat. “You’re a good person, you know that?”

“Not good enough, clearly,” Jack mutters.

“But you’re not in the same place as Parse right now,” Shitty says. “You saw what happened to Michael Sam – never played a single snap in the NFL. And your stock has already taken enough of a hit.” He winces. “I mean –”

“No, I know,” Jack says. “It’s true.”

“Even if you stay quiet for now, you’re not committing to silence forever.” Shitty nudges their shoulders together. “Parse is Hart-nominated for the second year running. You haven’t even signed your contract yet. I bet if you asked him, he wouldn’t  _let_  you come out until you’re in a better place to take the weight of it. Means a lot more when an NHL player comes out than an NHL prospect.”

Jack considers this. He chews on his thumbnail. He has the dumbest tells.

“You should ask him,” Shitty says softly. “It would be good for you both.”

“I can’t,” Jack says.

“Bullshit!”

“No, I – I tried to call him,” Jack says. “He disconnected his number.”

Shitty blinks. “Oh. Damn.”

“Right,” Jack says.

“We can figure this out,” Shitty says.

Jack manages a half-smile.

“No, I’m serious,” Shitty says. “Jack. We’re gonna figure this out.”

 

* * *

 

They figure it out somehow.

Luck. Magic. Some extended network starting from an old teammate of Jack’s from his bantam days and ending with a text from an unknown phone number sending two separate texts:  _Zimms?_ and an address in Rochester, New York.

The address to a house Jack is currently standing outside. He knocks on the door.

A moment later, Kent opens it. “Dude!” he says. “I thought – I figured you were going to send me something.”

“What would I be sending you exactly?” Jack says.

“I dunno, a letter?” Kent says, still staring.

“I know you think I’m some kind of luddite, but really?”

Kent yanks him inside. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He looked around outside, gaze sweeping up and down the street, before slamming the door behind Jack. “Dude, you  _cannot_ be here right now.”

Jack narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I’m already having a shit time fielding questions about – shit, there’s no way I can keep them off you if they see you with me right now,” Kent says. “Are you fucking insane?”

“I wanted to see you,” Jack says.

Kent digs his fingers into his own hair, mussing it up. Despite himself, Jack can’t help but flash back to the EpiKegster, to  _afraid I’ll tell them something_?

“You are certifiable, you know that?” Kent says. “Fuck, Zimms.” He waves for Jack to follow him inside, leaving him to the kitchen. He pours a glass of some frothy green liquid from a blender on the counter, offering some to Jack, to which he shakes his head. “Just finished working out. Caught me at a good time.”

“Where?” Jack says, curious as to where Kent is allowed to go.

“Basement,” Kent says, jaw clenched. “Home gym.” He drains half the glass in one go, then sets it down on the counter. “Zimms…”

“I wanted to see you,” Jack repeats, stubbornly.

“It was dumb, I know that,” Kent says. “I should have been more cautious – my agent is always saying…” His knuckles go white around the glass. “My agent always said I should have made them sign NDAs. I fucked up.”

“That’s not why I’m –”

“But I’m not gonna out you, I promise,” Kent says. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know that,” Jack says. “Wouldn’t blame you, but I know that.”

Kent narrows his eyes at him.

“No, seriously,” Jack says. “Shitty had to talk me out of doing it myself, actually.”

Kent’s mouth drops open. “Are you nuts?” he says, way too loud. “What the fucking  _what_? Absolutely not. I forbid you from doing that.”

“You forbid me?” Jack says, amused.

Kent knows how dumb that sounds, from his expression, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. “I  _forbid_  you,” he repeats, doubling down. “I don’t need your martyrdom, dude, I’ve got this. You focus on you.”

Jack scowls and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Just doesn’t seem fair,” he mutters.

Kent snorts. “None of this is fair, no. But come on, it’s not like I’m doing the brave thing and you’re being a little bitch by not stepping forward. I’ve been hidden in this stupid house, haven’t said a word to anyone but you and our PR head in days, haven’t issued any statements, haven’t confirmed or denied anything… I’m being more of a coward than you are.” He looks away. “I had the opportunity passed straight to my tape, and I’m too much of a pussy to tap it in.”

“Kenny, that’s – that’s bullshit,” Jack says, and he wishes he could channel Shitty’s eloquence here, his passion for justice. “They’ve made enough statements for the world to know you’re being silenced, and not of your own will.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t signed anything,” Kent says. “What are they gonna do if I go against them? They can’t fucking suspend me, they can’t fine me – I’m allowed to be gay, it’s not  _illegal_. I should… I should say something.” He sips at his green drink, looking mutinous.

Jack watches him for a long moment. “What would you say?” he asks.

Kent looks up. “Huh?”

“If you spoke out. What would you say?”

Kent swallows. “I – I dunno, I guess that I’m not ashamed. That I wish this wasn’t how the news got broken, but that I don’t feel like there’s anything wrong with me.” He rubs his hand over his mouth. “That I’m sorry to my friends and family and fans for finding out this way, and that I’m sorry for not being more careful, and…”

“Kenny,” Jack says, heart aching. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You couldn’t have known he was recording you.”

“No, I know,” Kent says. He sighs, leaning his elbows on the counter. “It just sucks. That’s all.”

Jack watches him. He shifts forward a little.

Kent manages a wavering smile. “This just… isn’t how I wanted people to find out.”

Jack has no idea what Kent is going through. Can’t imagine. Having to change his number, no doubt to avoid all the harassing calls from media tools looking for a scoop. Having to hide away, having his team apologize for him, as if he’s ashamed, as if he’s sorry for who he is. Having this private part of himself revealed publicly, humiliatingly, as if the world has entered his bedroom and stands, pointing and whispering, from the foot of his bed.

Jack rounds the counter and grabs Kent, manhandling him into a hug. Kent fights his grasp for one cursory minute before giving in, resting his forehead on Jack’s shoulder and surrendering completely into his embrace.

He grips Jack’s collar hard, and Jack pets his hair and pretends not to notice the way he shakes slightly against him.

“You get one season,” he says quietly. “One season of silence, and then I’m coming out, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Kent opens his mouth, and Jack puts his finger up against it.

“I’m not negotiating this,” he says. “It’s not just about you.”

Kent nods, finally. “Okay,” he says, voice hoarse. “But you have to know – if you do that, you’re never going to be able to get away from me. We’ll be Parson-and-Zimmermann  _forever_. Worse than Crosby and Ovechkin, worse than Forsberg and Sakic. You sure you’re up for that?”

He looks up at Jack, all big eyes, and Jack just knows he’s thinking about the week before the draft, when Jack was put to the test on this matter. When Jack failed.

“I’m sure,” he says, kissing Kent’s forehead.

“Okay,” Kent says. He lets out a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://achilleees.tumblr.com/). i have loved the jack/parse prompts i have gotten!! i would adore more, hint hint...


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